


The Encounter

by ophelia_interrupted



Category: Swordspoint Series - Ellen Kushner
Genre: First Meetings, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-13
Updated: 2015-08-13
Packaged: 2018-04-14 12:03:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4563948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ophelia_interrupted/pseuds/ophelia_interrupted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Richard meets, and loves, a self-destructive Alec</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Encounter

            It was two days after the city’s Harvest Festival when the ragged scholar showed up in Riverside.  Richard was returning from a job on the Hill, his white shirt still flecked with his opponent’s blood, when he spotted the young man sauntering down the lane known as Rotten Row.  Richard had intended to go straight home and change, since he didn’t actually enjoy being splashed in other people’s blood, but something about the stranger caught his eye.

            The young man walked with the arrogance of a noble, his head up, his posture elegant, and that alone was enough to make him stand out as a target in Riverside.  But more than that, the scholar’s hands were jammed into the pockets of his robe, and he looked back and forth at the half-decayed buildings around him, betraying the fear of someone who has not yet learned to make his fear work for him.  This young man plainly saw threats everywhere, and was trying to pay attention to everything, instead of listening selectively for quiet footsteps that fell in time with his own.  Richard would have assumed that the stranger was just lost and eager to escape the old section of the city, except he kept stopping at intervals, standing very still, and appearing to wait for something.  Whatever he was waiting for must have been elusive, since he always started up again, continuing on just as haughtily detached, and just as afraid, as before.

            Curious, Richard followed him.  In Old Exchange Street a cloaked and muffled figure, hardly larger than a child, brushed against the young man lightly and then hurried on its way.  The scholar scarcely seemed to notice.  Richard noticed, however, and he caught Nimble Willie examining his newly-acquired loot in an adjoining alley.

            “What did you get, Willie?” Richard asked.

            Willie looked disappointed.  “Not much,” he said.  “Just this,” he held up a small penknife with a blade shorter than his diminutive pinkie finger, “and this, whatever this is.”  He held up a little tin box.  When he opened it, gray powder spilled out.

            Richard looked at it and said, “That looks like pounce.  People sprinkle it over their letters so that the ink will dry.  I’ve seen them do it on the Hill.” 

            “You think somebody would buy it?” Willie asked skeptically.

            “No,” Richard said. 

            “Oh, well,” Willie said, tossing the tin box down the alley.  “I guess that’s what I get, going through a University student’s pockets.  I wouldn’t have bothered, except he’s walking around here like he owns the place.  I thought, maybe he’s some noble’s bastard kid . . .”

            “Maybe he is,” Richard said.

            “In Riverside, with nothing in his pockets but a little knife and some useless powder?  Nah.  He’s just some crazy boy who’s going to get himself killed,” Willie said.

            “You’re probably right,” Richard agreed, but once Willie had moved off in search of his next mark, he set off to find the scholar again.

            He hadn’t gone far.  He was still walking in his frightened, disdainful way down Old Exchange.  Richard found he liked his walk.  He liked the young man’s hair, too—it was fine and brown, long after the fashion of University students, and the autumn sunlight gave it a chestnut sheen. 

            Just about the time that he had decided to catch up to the man and speak to him, the scholar abruptly turned and walked into what had long ago been a great house, but which was now a particularly nasty tavern with a half-burnt façade.  Getting more curious by the moment, Richard followed. 

            The inside was lit only by a low, sullen fire that gave off little warmth, and a few stinking tallow candles.  Once his eyes adjusted, he saw the scholar sitting at a table across from a onetime-swordsman named Smeaton and a lady Richard knew exchanged her favors for Fool’s Delight. 

            Smeaton’s big, hammy fist was balled up on the table, and he was rumbling angrily, “What did you just call me?”

            “I’m sorry,” said the scholar, in a cool, light voice that reminded Richard of the Hill, “Do you prefer to go by _Mr._ Jackass?  Or would you rather I called you ‘Miss?’”  Smeaton’s face turned as red as if it had been boiled, and he all but tossed the woman off his lap.  The stranger maintained his manner of polite interest as Smeaton stood up and towered over him, and the juxtaposition of the crude and the genteel made it almost impossible for Richard not to laugh. 

            “Outside,” Smeaton growled, his hand going to the hilt of his sword.

            “What for?” the young man asked reasonably.  “I’m sitting right here.  Or don’t you think you can hit me from that distance?”

            Smeaton’s blade seared from its scabbard, the light from the doorway briefly flashing on the polished steel.  Middle age and alcohol might have eroded his abilities as a swordsman, but he clearly kept up with the maintenance of his weapon.  Someone in the depths of the tavern screamed, and then there was total silence.

            Richard walked up and stood beside the scholar.  “My fight,” he told Smeaton.

            Smeaton sneered.  “You’re taking up for this little shit?” he asked.

            “Excuse me, but this is a private conversation,” the scholar said.  “Mr. Jackass here was just about to swing at me and miss.”  Plainly, the young man had a death wish.

            “There’s no challenge in killing him,” Richard said, pushing on the mental pressure point that all swordsmen had. 

            “Yeah,” Smeaton agreed reluctantly.  “Yeah, all right.  I’ll kill you first.” 

            That is not what happened.  What happened is that Smeaton ended up on his back on the floor, with a bloodstain spreading rapidly from the tiny, neat slit in the left breast of his shirt.  Richard pulled a cloth from his pocket to wipe the blood from his sword.

            “Oh, you killed him,” the scholar said.  He was standing to one side, looking down at Smeaton’s body with intense fascination.  “Look—his lips are turning purple.” 

            “They are,” Richard agreed.  He looked up at the young man, registered that his eyes were a catlike green and almost unnaturally bright.  “What’s your name?”

            The stranger drew breath as if to reply, then paused, licked his lips.  The green eyes flicked from Richard’s face to that of the dead man’s on the floor.  “Alec,” he said.

            “I’m Richard.  Want to go somewhere else?”

            That provoked what Richard interpreted as a nervous, but genuine, smile.  Alec’s eyes met his and held them.  “I’d love to,” he said.

            Richard led Alec back to his rooms, intending to change out of his bloody clothes and then take him around to see what there was to see in Riverside.  As he stood shirtless in his bedroom however, reaching into the chest at the foot of the bed for clean linen, he heard the door creak open.

            Alec walked into the room and stood there, looking at him.  “I got bored of waiting,” he said. 

            Richard straightened up and gazed back at this strange young man, who was standing with such an arrogant air, but who had his hands balled in his pockets.  Alec stood motionless, those eyes of his upon Richard’s, almost as if he were an animal fascinated by a trap. 

            Richard dropped his shirt, and walked up to Alec as if the scholar had truly been a frightened and dangerous animal.  Tension fairly radiated from him as Richard put his hand on one bony shoulder, then after a moment of hesitation reached up and put his other on the back of Alec’s head.  The young man’s hair was soft and smooth.  Very gently, worried he might startle Alec somehow and make him bolt, Richard bent his head down and kissed him. 

            Luxuriant lashes fluttered against Richard’s cheek as Alec closed his eyes.  He returned the kiss, almost chastely at first, then with growing passion.  Richard pressed his body against that of the other man, feeling the contour of his ribs, and then slowly and hesitantly Alec’s hands left his pockets.  He put his long, slightly bony arms around Richard, and after a moment started running his hands over the skin of his back, as if exploring some new and remarkable territory. 

            Richard began kissing Alec’s neck, and Alec shifted his stance to allow him better access.  When he lightly kissed the pit of the scholar’s throat, Alec made a soft sighing noise, and he drew closer to Richard, as if he’d been waiting his whole life to be kissed just there, just like that. 

            “Where did you come from?  I didn’t know there was anyone like you in Riverside,” Alec breathed.  “I thought Riversiders were all smelly thugs with blood on their knives.” 

            “I cleaned the blood off mine,” Richard said, speaking with his lips close enough to Alec’s skin that they brushed his neck when he spoke.  Alec shuddered against him, and Richard wasn’t sure if that was a type of laughter at a private joke, or some outward manifestation of a private pain. 

            After Richard’s kisses reached Alec’s collarbone, he ran into the fabric of his robe.  Tentatively, he took hold of the loose and threadbare cloth and lifted it up, intending to pull it up and off over Alec’s head.  The young man obliged him, lifting his arms and ducking his head to make it easier to take the robe off. 

            They made short work of one another’s clothes after that.  Once they were naked, Alec started to shiver.  He pressed his body tightly against Richard’s, and Richard could feel the individual hairs standing up all over his body.  “Let’s get into bed,” Richard said.  He walked over to the bed and pulled the covers back for Alec to get in first.

            At first, the sheets were cold, and Alec shivered even more violently.  “How do you stand it in here?” he asked, hugging himself. 

            “Once you get used to it, it’s not so bad,” Richard said, getting into bed beside him.  He gathered Alec’s body to him, warm flesh against warm flesh.  “It’s much better now,” he conceded.  He began kissing his way down Alec’s front, and the young scholar sighed and went languid under his touch. 

            Just as Richard began to kiss the crease where Alec’s groin met his thigh, thinking all the while that this whole interlude had been a delightful surprise, Alec’s body suddenly went rigid, and he flipped over onto his stomach.  He rummaged for something in the pile of clothes by the side of the bed. 

            “What is it?” Richard asked, wondering what had changed.  The next thing he knew, Alec was holding the edge of a knife at his throat.  It was one of his own.  Alec must have picked it up in the other room and pocketed it before coming into the bedroom.

            “I could kill you right now,” Alec whispered harshly.  The hand holding the knife against Richard’s neck shook. 

            The moment for a killing blow came, and went.  Richard started breathing again.  “You don’t want to do that Alec,” he said, putting his hand over the cool, long-fingered one that held the blade to his throat.

            Alec resisted.  “Why not?” he demanded.  There was a wire-taut tremor in his voice that suggested to Richard that he had attacked out of fear, and not out of hostility. 

            “Because you don’t need to kill me.  I’m not going to hurt you, so you don’t need to hurt me,” Richard said, as calmly as he could with a knife against his skin.  When Alec still didn’t give up the blade, Richard flexed the other man’s wrist in a way that made him gasp and drop the knife.  Richard hurled it across the room, where it struck the wall with a clatter. 

            He half expected Alec to get up and go running after it, but he didn’t.  Instead he lay very still, almost passive, except for the glittering terror in his eyes.  “Well?” he whispered.

            “Well what?” Richard asked.

            “Kill me.  I can’t fight back now,” Alec said. 

            Richard had no desire to kill him.  The man was as frightened and helpless as a kitten.  Instead, he ran his hand down the side of Alec’s face, and was gratified to see some of the panic in his eyes lessen.  “Is that why you picked a fight with Smeaton?” he asked.  “Did you want him to kill you?” 

            “Why didn’t you let him?” Alec demanded.  He began to tremble violently, and then he struggled to get up.  Richard gripped his wrists and held them, keeping him in place. 

            “Nobody’s going to get killed here,” Richard assured him.  “I’m not going to be hurt, you’re not going to be hurt.”

            Alec grew still after that, and for the first time those fever-bright green eyes met his gaze and really seemed to see him.  Just a man; just Richard.  Alec’s lips were parted, and his eyes tracked back and forth a little, as if he were scanning and memorizing the details of Richard’s eyes.  Then all at once the tension seemed to go out of him.  His breath caught in something like a sob, but when Richard let go of his wrist and ran the back of one finger under his eye, it came away dry. 

            A few more dry sobs wracked him, and then he was still.  “Do what you want with me,” he said softly. 

            “Do what I want with you?” Richard asked with a smile.  Far from being repelled by this strange, violent man, he felt exhilarated, the way he did when he came away unwounded from a really good swordfight.  He’d had to do battle for Alec, and now he wanted him even more.  “You mean like this?” he asked, and he raised one of Alec’s hands to his lips.  He kissed it softly.  “Or this?” He turned the hand over and kissed Alec’s wrist. 

            The other man pulled his hand away, but not with any violence.  Richard had still had time to see the scratch marks that tracked along the inside of Alec’s wrist, none of them deep, but placed where the veins would have been slit if they had been deep.  “I tried to do it myself,” Alec confessed, as Richard fell to kissing his neck just below his ear.  “I couldn’t.  I’m a coward.  I’m afraid of pain—ah!”  His breath caught as Richard kissed him in a particularly sensitive place. 

            “Well, this isn’t going to hurt.  It isn’t going to hurt a bit,” Richard said, as he kissed his way down Alec’s collarbone. 

            Next he brought his hands into play, and began rubbing Alec all over his body, getting him used to the sensation.  Richard knew instinctively that it wouldn’t do to startle him.  It was a little like making love to a girl; getting his partner relaxed and ready.  It seemed to work.  Judging by the sounds and motions Alec was making, he appreciated it. 

            When at last Richard began alternately stroking each of them, Alec gasped, and raised his hips to meet his caresses.  “Good?” Richard asked.

            “Mmm,” said Alec.  Richard shifted his hold somewhat, and was rewarded with another sharp intake of breath.

            “Better than a knife fight?”

            “Much better,” Alec murmured.  Richard continued pleasuring them both, until Alec abruptly seemed to tire of passivity.  He sat up and gripped Richard’s shoulders, and forcefully rolled him over onto his back.  This wasn’t violence, however, it was only passion, and Richard was happy to lie down under it. 

            Richard had about made up his mind that Alec wasn’t very experienced in bed, and that was one reason why he was so frightened. It turned out that he was wrong.  Once Alec got comfortable, those long, callus-free hands of his did wondrous things—to say nothing of his mouth.  Soon they hovered on the precipice together, bodies moving in unison, and then the shuddering sweetness took them. 

            After, Alec rested his head in the crook of Richard’s shoulder, and seemed to doze.  Richard stroked his hair, feeling a tenderness he hadn’t experienced in a long time.  Eventually, Alec stirred.  “Richard?” he asked blearily.

            “Hmm?”

            “Do you hate me?”

            Richard all but laughed.  “Hate you!  I couldn’t hate you any less.”  As a matter of fact, he was already starting to feel a little bit in love with him.  He never had been able to resist a challenge.

            “For trying to kill you, I mean,” Alec explained.

            “You’re not the first person to try to kill me today,” Richard said equably.  “Don’t do it again, though.”

            “No,” Alec said quietly.  Then, some minutes later, “I’m hungry.”

            “We can go out and get something,” Richard said. 

            “Will you show me around Riverside?” Alec asked a little dreamily.

            “All of it that’s worth seeing,” Richard said.  As it happened, there wasn’t much worth seeing, but Richard looked forward to Alec’s company.

            “Are you going to kill anybody else?”

            “Probably not.”

            “Ah well,” Alec said, sitting up and stretching.  “There’s always tomorrow.”

            Richard found that he very much looked forward to Alec’s company tomorrow as well. 


End file.
